by Charlie Hart
I would never replace Caroline, but I would be his wife. And I know I could have loved him. Would have loved him.
I do love him.
My voice is ragged as I cry out, as I clench my stomach with my arms, desperate and afraid. Not for myself, but for the men I love.
Giles, though is a military man. A fighter. A man who doesn’t know the meaning of giving up.
His fingers curl around the gun and he raises it, all while blood is running from his arm and leg, coloring the ground, red burgeoning against the pure white.
He shoots his attacker without taking pause. The shot rings out as the bullet hits the wolf squarely between his eyes, and the animal falls limply to the ground.
The other two wolves move fast, racing away, howling as they run, not looking back at their fallen pack member—maybe they know, instinctively, that they would be next.
I crawl across the snow, my heart stretching across the distance between Giles and me. It’s the only way I’m able to move at all. Love propels me to move forward and push away fear. Giles cannot die. Not now. Not like this.
My hands cup his face, his eyes are heavy like all his strength is spent. His face is ghostly white, and his skin is cold and clammy.
I push back his hair, my tears spilling across his cheeks, and even though he tries to focus on me, his eyes roll back.
No, no, no.
“I’m here. I’m here and I’m yours.” I’m hysterical and feel as unhinged as the wolves. Wild. But not free. No. I wanted freedom. Ran here to find it. But this bleak landscape is just like everywhere else. It’s just a different type of death. A different type of pain.
Maybe that is all life is. Death, no matter how you fight it, it’s coming for us all.
“Look at me,” I beg. “Look at me, Giles.” My eyes are blurry with tears, with an ache I cannot name.
How did he bear to lose Caroline? How did he stand up again, give his service to the State of Alaska when they had taken the woman he loved? How did he put his name in the lottery, take that risk, knowing that love can end in death?
That it most certainly will.
“I’m here,” he says, his hand moving to mine, but there’s no strength in it. “You’re not alone.”
My chest heaves in relief and I feel Fallon ease me away, moving quickly, but with tenderness. “Rip these strips,” he instructs, handing me a shirt from his pack. “We need to stop the bleeding.”
I nod, my emotions kept at bay as I realize Fallon and I are the only ones here to keep Giles from bleeding out. Instinct kicks in, and I realize I know this, how to help. “A tourniquet, right?”
Fallon nods. “Right.”
We get to work, me on his arm, and Fallon on his leg. My years of studying biology and pre-med giving me the foresight I need.
“No, higher, Fal,” I instruct. “Two inches above the wound on the part of the limb closest to the heart.”
He flashes me a look of surprise, but nods and does as I say. Giles cries out in pain as I tie the strip of cloth, and his response is just what I was looking for, to know I did it correctly.
“The SUV isn’t too far,” Fallon tells us. “But we have to be careful. Can you stand?”
Giles grunts in reply, and Fallon helps his old friend up.
“Fuck.” Giles clenches his teeth and I know he’s putting on a brave face. The bite in his leg is much deeper than the one in his arm, and I have no idea what we’ll do if he needs a hospital. From what I overheard this morning, calling any attention to ourselves is just asking for trouble.
Giles has his good arm draped over Fal’s shoulder, and Fallon holds onto him from the back, helping hold him up since he can’t use his right foot.
We don’t speak as we move through the snow at an excruciatingly slow pace, but we manage. Giles’ pants and shirt are soaked through with blood and sweat pours down both the men’s faces. Once at the vehicle, I spread out the blanket in the backseat, so Giles can lie down, and Fallon eases him up and onto the seat.
The men clench their jaws, gritting their teeth, both holding on for dear life. Once he has Giles situated, Fallon closes the back door of the SUV and we both climb into the front.
Finally, we are driving down the snow-covered road, all of us rattled to our very core.
We need to keep Giles alert, that much I remember from my medical training. We can’t let him fall asleep. I turn the radio on, rolling through station after station of static. But I’m desperate for something familiar, a sound that can soothe us all.
Fallon’s hand wraps around mine, stilling me. “You’re not gonna find anything out here.”
“But we can’t let him fall asleep,” I whisper. “We can’t let him-”
Giles moans, and I turn, seeing his eyes open, pleading with mine. “You sing, Tia. Sing me a song.”
My face falls, remembering his description of Caroline. A woman in an apron who sang songs all day long, familiar with all the things I’m not. And I wonder, how I can ever be the woman he needs - the woman any of them need.
But then I stop myself from the rabbit trail that leads to self-loathing and pity. That is not the woman these men need either. They need strength and resolve. I’m not Caroline, but Giles isn’t asking me to be.
All he is asking for is a song.
And I can give him that.
I reach for his hand and our fingers lace as I reach deep inside myself, looking for a thread to something that can stitch up his pain, if even for just a little while.
The words are tight in my throat, but it’s all I have to offer. The song is for Giles and Fallon as much as it is for me. My voice is thin and small, but it is enough. At this moment we are all breathing, alive, and clinging to one another. I may have run from my husbands once, but I vow to never run again. I can do better, be better. Be brave in ways I’ve never had to be before.
“Blackbird singing in the dead of night… Take these broken wings and learn to fly… All your life… You were only waiting for this moment to arise…”
Chapter 8
Giles
It takes all my strength to stay awake. Darkness pulls at my consciousness. And I know how easy it would be to fall into the cocoon of sleep. But I force my eyes open - for Tia.
“I love you,” she says again, gripping my hands. Her eyes desperate, fear pulling at her lips. “You’re going to be okay.”
I nod and squeeze her hand.
“I’ve had worse than this,” I lie.
My body feels like it’s been shredded, and I try not to look at my leg, see the way the skin hangs from the bone.
Fuck.
The pain has steadied, which isn’t a good sign. I’m in shock. I can feel the iciness of it straight to my core. Only felt it once before. When I found out that Caroline was dead.
Now it’s me, fighting for my life. And the unfairness of it hits me hard in my gut. I just found Tia. Our life together is just beginning. And while I know she’ll be safe with the others, I don’t want to leave her. Ever.
“Giles,” Tia says sternly. “Keep your eyes open. We’re almost home.”
Home.
It’s been a long time since I had one. Spent most of my youth in the facility, training with other boys my age. But with Tia, we were just beginning to make a home.
“I like that,” I say, my words slurring like I’ve had too much to drink.
“What?” Her brows drop.
“Home.” I close my eyes. “Our home.”
“Giles, please stay awake.”
I try to open my eyes, but they’re so damn heavy.
“We’re almost at the gate,” I hear Fallon say. “Can you get his ID?”
Tia leans over the seat and reaches into my pockets, searching for the card. “Got it.”
“And make sure the blanket covers his injuries. The less the guards see the better.”
My eyes flutter open as Tia pulls the blanket over me. “Thank you.”
Her lips brush against mine lightly. “No
, thank you. You were incredible out there. So brave.”
I try to smile, but I’m pretty sure it comes out more like a grimace.
“Giles,” Fallon says. “We’re pulling up to the guards. I need you to be alert.”
“I’m good.” I try to sit up, but the pain is too much, and cold sweat beads across my forehead.
Tia turns back around in her seat, and we pull up to the guards. Thankfully, they don’t give us any trouble. Just a quick glance back at me. I salute them with my good arm, and they let us through.
As we pull up to our gated house, the last of my strength slips away.
Shadows dance behind my closed lids, and I can hear people talking, but it sounds metallic and far away.
“Get Emerson and Banks out here to help me,” Fallon shouts. “He’s lost consciousness.”
I try to murmur that I’m still here, but I feel paralyzed. “Shit, what happened?’
“Wolves.”
“Get him inside.”
Words twist around me, and I feel like I’m floating.
“Giles.” It’s Banks voice that breaks through the fog. “I’m going to give you something for the pain.”
“No. Need. To. Stay. Awake,” I manage to say. I’m in the house. The living room, I think. On one of the couches.
“You need to rest.” Banks leans over me. “Do you trust me?”
I nod. The man is a doctor, and he’s sworn an oath to protect me.
“Your wounds are deep. And I need to work on your leg now if I’m going to save it.”
“Do it,” I rasp out.
I feel something sharp in my shoulder, then a warmth spreads through my body, and the darkness that swallows me isn’t as cold as it had been. It’s peaceful. And quiet. And the last thing I feel as I’m pulled under is a small, soft hand on my forehead, and Tia’s voice begging me to be all right.
When I was a kid, I fell through the ice while we were ice fishing. I remember the initial shock as the cold water enveloped me, pulling me down. When cold hits you, and not just regular cold, but the bitterest cold, it surprises you, because it’s like flames licking against your skin.
But it’s when I came out of the water when they tried to warm me up, that’s when the real pain began. As blood rushed to areas that had been frozen.
Every time consciousness calls to me, the pain is so excruciating that a howl sounds in the deepest part of my soul. Maybe I release it audibly, because I feel hands on me, trying to hold me down. See Banks’ dark eyes filled with concern, speaking words I can’t understand.
And then I’m floating back into the cold waters again.
I don’t know how long I remain unconscious. Hours, days, weeks, for all I know. There’s no sense of time, only the people who never leave my side.
Tia, with her soft, pleading voice. Banks constantly giving orders. Fallon demanding gruffly that I hold on. The others are there too. Emerson, Salinger, and Huxley.
I don’t see them, but I hear their voices, sense their presence.
This time, as my mind climbs through the dense fog of the drugs Banks gave me, the pain is somewhat bearable. And despite the weight that seems to be pressing down on me, I’m able to open my eyes.
I’m in my bedroom, the only light is from the bathroom, and I feel a weight beside me. Tia is there, curled in a ball, one hand on mine, her eyes closed. The bruise on her cheek is still visible and the small cut on her lip is now scabbed over, which means I haven’t been out for that long.
With all my strength, I reach over with my good arm and brush my knuckles across her jaw. She stirs, then her eyelashes flutter open.
“You’re awake.” She sits up a little too quickly, making the mattress move and causing a slice of pain to shoot down my leg.
I hiss in a breath.
“Sorry,” she says, removing a cloth from my head, then grabbing a fresh one from a bowl on the table beside her.
“How…” I wince at the scratchiness in my throat. “How long have I been out?”
“Since yesterday.”
“And my leg?”
“Banks says you’re lucky. He doesn’t think you’ll have any nerve damage. But you’re going to need some time to heal. Fallon called your supervisor.”
“And the truck?”
“Fallon and Emerson replaced the tires and brought it back. They said we were lucky that they got to it before a patrol car found it.”
That gives me a sliver of hope.
“Are you thirsty?” She reaches for the glass of water on the table.
“No.” I take her hand. “Would you get Fallon for me?”
She frowns but nods, and I squeeze her hand when she starts to stand.
“Thank you for staying with me. But you should get some sleep.”
Her bottom lip pulls between her teeth, and she chews on it for a moment, before saying, “I’m not going to leave you. I’d rather stay in here.”
A small smile tugs at my lips. “I’d like that. But why don’t you go eat something before you come back? You need to take care of yourself too.”
“Okay.” She starts to walk away, but then turns back to me, and leans over, kissing me softly, her hand on my beard. “I know I keep saying it, but I want you to know how much I love you.”
“You can never say it enough.” I place my hand on hers. “And I love you too.”
She kisses me one more time, then disappears from the room.
Fallon comes in a few minutes later. “The drugs are finally wearing off, I see.”
“Don’t let Banks give me anything else,” I say sternly. “I need to be clear-headed if anyone comes.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“Fallon-”
“I’ve got it taken care of.” His nostrils flare and he gives me one of his don’t-argue-with-me looks.
“How’s Tia doing?” I ask, knowing it’s no use arguing with him.
“She hasn’t left your side.” His lips twist up slightly. “She really cares about you.”
“And you,” I add.
“Yet, she still ran.” He shakes his head, then drags his fingers through his short, dark blonde hair.
“Did you ask her why?”
“Not yet. We’ve all been too worried...” He rubs his neck. “You scared the shit out of us. There were a few times we thought we might lose you.”
“I don’t give up that easy.”
“No. You don’t.” He steps towards me, his expression filled with emotion. “I’m just glad you’re going to be okay.”
“You’re not going all soft on me now, are you?”
He chuckles. “Give me a second and I’m sure I can find my inner asshole.”
“Doubt it’ll take much looking,” I tease.
He grunts, then says, “Banks wanted to know when you were awake. I’ll send him up.”
I stop him when he’s near the door. “Fallon.”
“Yeah?”
“Tell the guys not to be too hard on her. Whatever her reason was, I think she was trying to protect us.”
“From what?”
“I don’t know. But there’s something she’s not telling us. I think there might be people after her.”
“There are always people after the women who come here. That’s why we have our laws and our security systems in place.”
“I know. Just be patient with her. I don’t think she’ll run again.”
He grunts, and I can see the doubt in his eyes before he turns and leaves the room. And I know he has no plans to go easy on her, Fallon never does.
But I know I’m right. Tia doesn’t need his wrath.
I may have the body that is wrapped in bandages, but Tia has been through the wringer herself. She killed a man.
And that’s going to haunt her a hell of a lot longer than it’ll take for my wounds to heal.
Chapter 9
Tia
Four days I tiptoe around the house, trying not to get in any of the men’s way. Huxley and Emerson won�
��t even look at me. Fallon keeps eyeing me suspiciously like I’m going to run again. Salinger watches me too, but there’s something in his expression that makes me wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on. Banks uses me as his errand-girl, which I don’t mind. I like being useful. But I can tell that they all blame me for Giles’ injuries. Everyone but Giles.
Not that I blame them. They’re right. If I hadn’t run away, he would never have been in those woods in the first place.
I started to explain to Fallon why I left. Wanted to tell him everything. But he quickly brushed me aside, saying he didn’t want excuses, he just wanted to know that I’d never do anything so stupid again.
I won’t.
Ever.
But I also need them to know the danger they’re in, keeping me as their wife. And not just from the potential mercenaries who might come for me. But from the men from my past.
When Lawson comes knocking at our door, the less they know the better.
Anything I say will be held against them. I’m not keeping secrets to hurt them, it’s to save them.
I heard my husbands talking. They think it’s unlikely that the two surviving men have gone to the authorities. If they had, Salinger would have heard talk of it at the government office where he works. Or, officers would have come and arrested me by now.
“We may have gotten a lucky break,” Emerson says in the study, leaning against the wall.
I don’t join them. They’d just get quiet if I walked in. So, I listen from outside the door, where I can get a small glimpse of my men.
“I don’t believe in luck,” Huxley says. “She killed one of their guys. They’ll want payment. We just don’t know what the cost is yet.”
There’s more muttering. And it drives me batty, all the whispers, all the conversations in corners when they think I can’t hear.
It’s so hard not having anyone to talk to. I considered calling Kate or Lilah, but it’s too risky to explain anything. And they’d ask questions. Women don’t beat around the bush like my husbands do. It’s surprising to me that none of my husbands have pressured me to explain. But then again, when I first came home, I was the one who initiated sex. They erred so far on the side of respect, I thought they weren’t interested in me. It softens me to them, that memory. Knowing how intent they were on not rushing things, how gentle they were when their lips met mine.